


House Orphaned Stories

by Julesmonster



Series: Orphaned Stories [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 07:04:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7564741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julesmonster/pseuds/Julesmonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More stories that I have decided not to finish, and so am posting for adoption. </p>
<p>These stories may be House/Wilson or House/Chase</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Deaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chase comes for an interview and ends up a patient. When his illness results in a permanent disability, House steps up to help.
> 
> House/Chase

Dr. Gregory House made his way through the halls of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital much quicker than his cane and missing thigh muscles should allow. He was pissed and he was venting, quite loudly, to his best friend, Dr. James Wilson, about the unfairness of life, the universe and their boss, Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine. 

“Where does she get off?” House asked, making a group of nurses on break turn around to look at him as the two men passed by. “I mean, really! I already have two perfectly good fellows. Their contracts are spaced out so I don’t have to replace them both at the same time and they cover all the politically correct bases. Well, except for LGBT.”

“LGBT?” Wilson asked, trying to keep up with both House’s stride and his tangential trains of thought.

House stopped dead in the center of the hall. “LGBT! The Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender community! Do you live under a rock?”

Dr. James Wilson shrugged. “Maybe. But you have that one covered, don’t you? I mean, you’re bi, aren’t you?”

House huffed and began the walk back to his office a much more manageable pace. “I’m not really bisexual. I’m more of a sexual opportunist. There’s a difference, subtle though it may be. Mostly the difference is that as an opportunist I don’t have to participate in any group activities or political rallies since I am, by definition, only concerned for my own sexual gratification.”

“We couldn’t have you marching for gay rights,” Wilson said dryly. “The world would come to an end if Greg House ever did something that wasn’t solely for his own personal benefit.”

“I do things for other people,” House said defensively.

“Name one?” Wilson said with a smug countenance that House sorely wanted to wipe off his face.

“I drove that nurse home the other day when her car broke down,” House said.

“Because you wanted to get into her pants,” Wilson said. “Therefore, it was for your benefit.”

“I…” House paused. Had he ever done anything that couldn’t be directly related to some desire of his? Had he ever once done something simply because it was the right and decent thing to do? “Okay, you’re right. I’m a selfish bastard. I accept that about myself. Can you accept that about you?”

“What do you mean?” Wilson asked affronted as he reached House’s office and opened the glass door for the limping man.

“I mean, sure, I do things because they benefit me,” House said. “But so do you. So does everyone. There is no such thing as a selfless good deed. Even Mother Theresa got something from helping all those clingy dying people.”

“This should be good,” Wilson muttered. “How exactly was Mother Theresa being selfish?”

“When you do a good deed, you feel good about what you have done, right?” House asked.

“Well, sure,” Wilson said. “I know it is a foreign concept to you, but yes, it feels good to help out my fellow human being.”

“So you do good deeds because it makes you feel better about yourself and your world,” House reasoned. “It’s a boost to your ego. Therefore it is not selfless.”

“You—you can’t….” Wilson tried to dispute the point but found that there was not much he could argue. It was true. Every charitable act he had performed in his life had benefited him emotionally and spiritually if not physically. Wilson closed his mouth and shook his head. “You amaze me. You make it seem like doing good deeds is a bad thing and I can’t find any way to argue against it.”

“It’s a gift,” House smirked as he sat down in his Eames lounge chair and put his feet up on the ottoman.

“So who has Cuddy set up for you to interview for the fellowship?” Wilson asked as he took his usual seat on the molded plywood chair beside House’s desk. 

“Some Australian wiz kid,” House said dismissively. “His father was Rowan Chase.”

Wilson whistled. “The rheumatologist? That’s an impressive gene pool. What’s the kid’s specialty?”

“Intensivist,” House said. “And surgeon. He’s coming down from Tufts in Boston. He’s only 28. He completed his second specialty there six months ago and has been practicing for the past two years in their NICU.”

“He has a surgical certification and is still working in the ICU?” Wilson asked. “That’s unusual. I mean, even if that was his first specialty, most people would go for the better hours and higher pay of the surgeon.”

“And now he’s going for a third specialty. It’s all part of what makes him so darned interesting,” House said. 

“You already have an interview scheduled? So you aren’t completely opposed to having this kid on your team.” Wilson said knowingly.

“Not completely,” House shrugged. “He’s got useful skills. Just think: I can bypass the surgical department completely with him around. But it’s better for Cuddy to think I hate the idea. If I let her think she beat me this time, she’ll be less likely to fight as hard to win the next round.”

Wilson chuckled appreciatively. “So when is the wunderkind showing up?”

House checked his watch. “Now.”

Just then there was a knock on the door and Wilson and House both looked up to see a young man with scraggly blond hair and blue-green eyes looking back at them through the glass. House waved him in and then there were the brief but mandatory minutes of awkward introductions and shuffling until Wilson left and House was alone with his newest fellow. The interview really was a formality as far as House was concerned. He liked this kid on paper, and now that he saw how pretty he was in person, he liked him even more. It would be no hardship to have that face sitting across from him at the conference table every day.

“You’re board certified in two specialties,” House said as he pretended to look over Robert Chase’s file. “Why do you want to go into Diagnostics?”

Robert Chase was surprised by the question. Not because it was an unusual question to be posed in an interview, but because it wasn’t. It was the sort of question that anyone would ask, and from everything he had heard about the famous diagnostician he wasn’t the sort to ask such mundane questions.

“I want to learn how to diagnose,” Chase said carefully. 

“Well, duh!” House drawled. “That is a very boring answer.”

“Well, it was a boring question,” Chase defended. House noticed a small sheen of sweat forming on his upper lip and wondered if the kid was really that nervous. His demeanor suggested otherwise.

“Okay, then how’s this one: What or who are you running away from?” House asked.

Chase paused as he thought over how to answer that. “I’m not running from anything.”

“You didn’t say anyone,” House quickly pointed out. “Which leads me to believe that you are running from someone. Perhaps the memory of the great Dr. Rowan Chase? Why would anyone need certification in three specialties before they are thirty-five? I think you are trying to prove that you are better than daddy was. I think you are trying to show the world that you are a better person and a better doctor. So tell me…Are you?”

The sweat had now moved to Chase’s forehead, House noted, and Chase was beginning to breathe a little bit heavier. This was definitely not nerves.

“A better doctor than my father?” Chase asked breathily. “Yeah. I think I am.”

“Why?”

The sweat and breathing was now joined by flushed skin.

“Because I’m a better man,” Chase said, but his voice was becoming weaker. “And that makes me a better doctor.”

“Are you feeling alright?” House finally asked.

Chase turned glassy eyes to House and tried to nod, but all color suddenly drained from his face and he bent double. “No.” He leaned over the trash can beside House’s desk and promptly vomited. The retching lasted for a minute or two and then he passed out and fell to the floor.

House got up from his chair and limped around his desk. Dr. Robert Chase was lying on his side in the fetal position, his arms crossed over his abdomen. House poked him with his cane, but the only response was a low groan. 

“You’re hired,” House told the semi-conscious doctor. 

When there was no response, House shrugged and limped over to the door to the conference room where his fellows were sitting around doing nothing.

“Oh ducklings! I have a new case for you!” House said in a nauseatingly sweet voice. “Foreman, come get him off of my office floor, please. And Cameron, no drooling on him. He’s mine!”

HCHCHCHCHC

“Oh Robbie!” House crooned to his newest fellow who was sleeping in a hospital bed in the diagnostics wing. “Time to wake up and get to work!”

Chase was groggy, but his eyes fluttered open to see Dr. House standing over him. Over his shoulder, Chase could see a brunette woman and an African American man. Those must be the other fellows, he thought to himself. But why was he in a hospital bed? He was supposed to be having an interview. 

“What happened?” Chase asked hoarsely.

“You puked in my trash and passed out,” House said. “All right duckies, differential diagnosis for a 28 year old male presenting with vomiting, abdominal pain, and fever.”

“Are you serious?” Foreman asked. “Any first year med student could answer this.”

“I know,” House said sadly. “Not interesting at all, but since Chase here is one of us now… Well, we can’t exactly pass him off to another department can we? I’m sure the next time he gets sick he’ll make sure it’s a more interesting disease to keep me entertained. I mean, you almost died for my amusement, didn’t you Foreman?”

“Appendicitis, diverticulitis, intestinal ischemia, or Crohn’s disease,” Foreman rattled off resignedly. “Also regional enteritis, renal colic, perforated peptic ulcer, pancreatitis, and rectus sheath hematoma.”

“Gallbladder or kidney stones, or an intestinal obstruction could present similarly,” Cameron added. “It could also be testicular torsion or ulcerative colitis.”

“Or Mesenteric lymphadenitis,” Chase said, and then groaned as a sharp pain flared through his gut.

“That sounds more interesting, but isn’t really,” House chided. “Robbie, if you are going to get sick, you really ought to make an effort to make it an exciting illness. Alright, Foreman, get a CBC and test his urine. Cameron, get an ultrasound in here and get him on broad-spectrum antibiotics. Whatever we’re dealing with, the antibiotics will help. In the meantime, Robbie and I are going to do an abdominal and rectal exam.”

House sounded entirely too happy about that and Chase’s eyes widened comically. “I don’t think a rectal is necessary. I think we can tell what we need to tell from the abdominal exam.”

“Oh Robbie,” House sighed dramatically. “There are no shortcuts to good health. Besides, I want to see if your ass looks as tight out of those pants you were wearing before as it did in them.”

HCHCHCHCHC

“Definitely appendicitis,” Chase sighed as he looked at the ultrasound. “That’s 8 out of 10 on the Alvarado scale.”

“Alright, up his dosage of cefuroxime and schedule the surgery,” House said as he handed the Doppler transducer to Cameron. “Looks like you’ll get to experience all the aspects of PPTH first hand, Robbie. Just think, if you weren’t the patient, you could be doing this surgery for me. Instead, I have to rely on the idiots over in surgical. They hate me, you know.”

“Just bloody great,” Chase sighed as he lay back against his pillow. 

He didn’t get to say anything else because the sharp pain that had been plaguing him all day suddenly spiked and the pain medication that was dripping through his IV was no longer sufficient to battle it. Chase curled up into a ball and whimpered with pain, tears running down his cheek, and then he blacked out again.

Cameron, who had been cleaning up the ultrasound brought it back over to the bed and helped House straighten the unconscious man enough to check the appendix again. What they saw was not good. The appendix had ruptured.

“Forget scheduling,” House told her. “Tell surgical that we’re bringing him now!”

HCHCHCHCHC

House stood in the observation room and watched as the surgeons performed the laparotomy. They made a three inch incision into Chase’s lower right abdomen, several inches above his hip bone. Then he watched as they cut out the appendix and performed a lavage of the peritoneum. The pus from the rupture had already spread and it took time to make sure they got everything cleaned out. Given the fact that Chase’s appendix had ruptured, it was likely that the surgeons had found peritonitis. They would need to keep an eye out for further infections.

The surgery went well, and House retreated before anyone could notice that he was concerned about one of his patients—or one of his fellows. It was odd, but after just one meeting with Robert Chase, House felt a connection and a responsibility towards this young doctor. He wanted him to be okay, because House really did want to have him around. Whether it was just because he was an interesting doctor, a pretty face with mesmerizing eyes or something more had yet to be determined.

Hours later, House was still sitting in his office, despite the fact that it was very late. He would normally have gone home as soon as he was sure that the patient had survived surgery and left his fellows to monitor his progress. This was different though. He had a vested interest in the outcome of this treatment. He had ordered his team to monitor Chase carefully. At the first sign that something wasn’t right, he would be there to fix it. He hadn’t been joking about the fact that Chase’s illness wasn’t interesting. It was all too predictable. Even the possible risks and infections were predictable. But predictable was good in this case. It meant that they could beat whatever came along.

“He’s tachycardic,” Foreman informed House before he was even fully through the door to his office. “His white cell count is elevated over 12,000. His fever has steadily risen over the last hour. His urine output has decreased to a dangerous level. He’s complaining of joint pain. And he’s developed a rash.”

“Sepsis,” House sighed. “I was afraid of that.”

“We’ve got him on some pretty strong antibiotics and they aren’t doing anything,” Foreman said.

“Put him on Gentamicin,” House said. “If the other antibiotics aren’t working, the advantages outweigh the risks at this point. Also get him on Xigris and corticosteroids.”

Foreman hesitated, but eventually nodded without arguing. Once he was gone, House sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. It would take a few minutes for Foreman to get the gentamicin. Long enough for House to talk to the kid first. House got to his feet, his leg throbbing from the too long day, and made his way to Chase’s hospital room.

“The antibiotics… aren’t working,” Chase gasped out. “It’s sepsis. Gotta… try something… stronger.”

His breathing was labored and House knew that he was going down hill quickly. Soon his breathing would falter to the point he would need ventilation. After that, renal failure would set in and he would require dialysis. They also needed to take steps to prevent deep vein thrombosis and stress ulcers. 

“I know. We’re putting you on corticosteroids, Xigris and Gentamicin,” House told him. “We’re monitoring your liver, your CVP, your electrolytes, and brain function. We’re going to keep your organs functioning. I am not going to let this thing win.”

Chase nodded. He looked like he was about to pass out again, but he looked up at House. “Thanks.” 

“You know the risks with Gentamicin?” House asked rather than acknowledge the gratitude.

Chase blinked slowly. His heart monitor was still beeping faster than it should and his breathing was becoming more labored as they talked. “Yeah. Possible loss… of equilibrioception. Possible permanent… hearing loss. Nephrotoxicity… leading to acute… renal failure. Still… better than dying.”

House nodded and watched as Foreman came in and began administering the medication. He then put an oxygen mask over Chase’s mouth. It wouldn’t work for long. Pretty soon Chase would need to be ventilated and put on dialysis. House frowned and walked out of the room.

HCHCHCHCHC

Three days. House spent three days at the hospital, spending nights in his Eames lounger and waiting to see how Chase responded to treatment. It was touch and go for a time. They had to put him on temporary dialysis, though they couldn’t be sure if the renal failure was from the sepsis or the gentamicin or a combination of the two. They hadn’t had to ventilate him, which was a good thing, since it made monitoring his brain function easier; they could just wake him up and ask him questions. Other than the renal failure, there had been no other side effects so far. House had also been afraid that the Xigris would cause a bleed, but so far they were good. So far, there was nothing that wouldn’t be better after a few more days of treatment. And he was already showing dramatic signs of improvement. House was glad. The sooner he could take the kid off the Gentamicin the better House would feel.

It was still early when House went into Chase’s room to check on him. He found the young man already awake and staring out the window from his bed.

“How are you?” House asked as he picked up the chart from the end of the bed and flipped through the pages. After a couple minutes, he realized that Chase hadn’t answered. He looked up. “Chase?” A little louder. “Chase?” Even louder. “Chase!”

Chase finally looked up at House. “Hey. Have you been calling long?”

“A little while,” House said, keeping his volume steady and louder than normal.

Chase nodded and there was sadness in his eyes. “Can’t hear very well. It’s been steadily getting worse since yesterday. I don’t think it will be long before I can’t hear anything at all. Can you bring me some music? If I have to lose my hearing, I’d like the last thing I hear to be music, not the beeping of monitors and the buzz of the hospital.”

House nodded. He’d give the kid his ipod to use. “I could take you off the Gentamicin.”

“It hasn’t finished the course,” Chase said. “There’s still a day and a half left in the treatment. If we stop now, there’s a good chance the infection would come back and then where would I be?”

House nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed beside Chase. He looked out the window where Chase was gazing once again. “I love this view. It’s the same one I have from my office and balcony. You can see most of the college campus from here.”

“I like watching the kids between classes,” Chase told him. “This early, there aren’t many people out, but soon they’ll be scurrying around. And some will sit around the green and talk or make out with their girlfriends or boyfriends. Some will play football in the grassy area. I never had time for all that when I was in school. I was always the one rushing from class to class. I had to get ahead of everyone. I had to be the best. And I didn’t have time to waste fooling around.”

“And now?” House asked.

Chase grinned. “Now, I think I missed out. But I’ve still got time to make up for it. I’m still young. I can still do things, have fun, and be reckless. I may not be able to hear soon, but you can feel the throbbing beat in a night club and dance to that.”

They were both silent for a while as they watched people start arriving on campus and populating the green spaces. 

“I can get you some books on sign language,” House offered. 

I can already sign, Chase signed.

House grinned at his fellow and replied, Where did you learn?

I had a friend in Boston, Chase signed. He was born deaf. He taught me, though it’s been a while since I used it. He moved away about a year ago.

You’re still pretty fluent, House signed. I’m impressed. I taught myself. Seemed like a useful skill to have as a doctor.

“I’m glad that I’ll have someone I can still communicate with,” Chase sighed. “I don’t think I’ve got much more than a day left before it’s gone completely.”

“Have you had any problems with your equilibrium?” House asked.

Chase shook his head. “None. And most of the symptoms for sepsis are gone. The surgical incisions are healing quickly, probably because of the steroids. Overall, I feel pretty good.”

“Well, that’s something,” House said.

“Nah, mate, that’s everything,” Chase said. “We can’t win ‘em all. I’m alive and I’d honestly rather lose my hearing than my sight or a limb or even my balance. All in all, I think I can adjust to this.”

“You shouldn’t have to adjust,” House said darkly. “I should have been able to prevent this.”

Chase laughed, honestly amused. “How? You aren’t god. You didn’t cause me to have a ruptured appendix. You didn’t make me get sepsis. You didn’t make me have the normally harmless mutation in my mitochondrial RNA that made me susceptible to hearing loss with the use of gentamicin or arrange it so a cochlear implant won’t work. None of that is your fault. You couldn’t have prevented any of it. But you did save my life and you’ve been really great to me.”

“Yeah, well don’t get used to me being so nice,” House grumped as he tapped his cane on the floor awkwardly. “I’m a bastard by nature. Just ask Cameron and Foreman.”

Chase gave a wistful smile. “They seem like nice people. I think I would have enjoyed working with them.”

“What do you mean, ‘would have?’” House demanded.

Chase frowned. “Well, you wanted an intensivist to help on your team. I can’t exactly monitor patients if I can’t hear the alarms, can I? I won’t be able to communicate with the patients, the nurses or my colleagues. Even in differentials, I’ll always be one step behind the others.”

“That’s bullshit,” House argued. “I hired you to do a job, and I expect you to do it. We’ll work out the specifics, but there isn’t a single obstacle you named that can’t be overcome. As long as you’re willing to work for it.”

Chase was quiet for a time, staring at the students below once again. “I’ve never been afraid of hard work.”

“But you are afraid,” House stated.

Chase snorted. “Wouldn’t you be? Everything will change. Everything is going to be different, harder. I can accept what is happening. I can even learn to live with it, but that doesn’t make it any less frightening.”

“I know a thing or two about facing life changing events,” House said, looking down at his leg. “It sucks. But you can survive it. And if you aren’t a misanthropic bastard like me, you’ll have people lining up to hold your hand while you adjust. Especially with that pretty hair and smile.”

Chase grinned impishly. “You think I’m pretty. I don’t know you well enough yet to know if I should be insulted, flattered or file a harassment complaint.”

“File the complaint,” House advised judiciously. “Cuddy expects one at least once a week and I haven’t offended anyone while you’ve been sick. At least not sexually.”

“Dr. Cuddy, the Dean of Medicine?” Chase asked. “She stopped by yesterday. Said she was surprised you had hired me. She thought you would put up more of a fight. I told her that you were probably just hiring me because you felt guilty that I passed out in your office.”

House snorted with amusement. “And what did she say to that?”

“She said that Greg House does not feel guilt,” Chase said. “Is that true?”

House shrugged. “I’m human; of course I feel guilt. I just don’t usually feel guilt for the things people think I should feel guilt over.”

“You feel guilty that your amazing healing powers weren’t enough to keep me from losing my hearing,” Chase said quietly. “Even though there was nothing you could have done differently.”

“Maybe,” House said. “But I don’t feel guilty for breaking rules or taking risks or even cheating and lying if it achieves my goals.”

“Hence your reputation,” Chase said. “I was warned, you know. Before I came here, I had no less than twenty people try and talk me out of applying for this fellowship.”

“And you ignored their warnings?” House asked lightly. “Maybe you aren’t as smart as I thought you were. Maybe I shouldn’t have hired you.”

“Or maybe you should be grateful that I’m arrogant enough to believe I can put up with your shit,” Chase replied, just as lightly.

“Maybe I should,” House agreed.

HCHCHCHCHC

Chase spent the majority of the next twenty-four hours listening to music on the ipod that House loaned to him. It didn’t really matter what he the music was—though he was perplexed by some of House’s musical choices—he just wanted to enjoy the beauty of the sounds. He didn’t sleep much, cutting back drastically on his morphine to stay awake because he did not want to miss one moment of hearing that he had left. The decline was inevitable, though. Slowly he had to turn the volume up on the earphones until the volume would go no higher. And then he listened as sound faded from his world. Lying in his bed in the darkness of the early morning hours, Chase wondered if it wouldn’t have been better not to know it was coming, to just wake up one day and be deaf. The drawn out decline he was experiencing was excruciating. And yet, he wouldn’t trade those last hours of hearing for anything. 

When House came into his room before lunch that day, Chase handed him the ipod back and the older doctor simply nodded and began signing. Chase noticed that House spoke his words as well as signing them, even though there was no other hearing person in the room, so he asked about it.

“You should start to learn to read lips,” House told him. “Signing is good for those who can sign, and you have been speaking for almost 30 years, so you’ll still be able to speak, but understanding what non-signers say will become important when you’re working with patients and their families.”

Chase nodded his agreement. It would be a useful skill.

“You should also get used to speaking out loud without being able to hear yourself,” House told him. “It will be strange at first, but you need to keep the skill up so your brain doesn’t forget how to make the sounds. So sign and speak together as much as possible.”

“Have you been consulting with an occupational therapist?” Chase asked as he signed. House was right. Not being able to hear himself talk was weird, like trying to talk over the music in a club, only there was no music. He could feel himself making the vocalizations and a little bit of vibration from the sound waves, but no real sound. 

“I haven’t been talking to anyone from down in the dungeons,” House said with an exaggerated shudder. “They always try and force me to walk on treadmills any time I go near the place. No, I’m just using common sense. And I did a little reading last night.”

“Okay,” Chase said. “Do I sound different?”

House thought about that for a moment. “A little more nasal, a little louder, but not really different. Not like someone who was born deaf. And you still have that silly fake-British accent.”

“Not British,” Chase responded tiredly, his signs becoming less animated. “Aussie.”

“Did you sleep at all last night?” House asked, and Chase shook his head no. House checked the morphine output over the last 24 hours and frowned. “Idiot.” He upped the morphine dose back to its proper level and Chase was asleep before another minute had passed.

House sat down on the stool beside his bed and watched the blond doctor sleep for a while. He could understand the young man’s need to cling to the last moments of normalcy. If he had known what was coming, House would have spent his last days and hours running until he collapsed. House snorted in self-deprecation. If he had known what was coming, he would have known how to prevent it from happening. 

Chase was lucky in that there would be no second guessing in the weeks, months and years ahead. As Chase had pointed out, House had done everything right, but the only way to save his life was to risk his hearing—a one in ten thousand chance that he would be rendered completely deaf. There had been no mistakes by idiot doctors who wouldn’t listen to sense. There had been no list of choices ranging from awful to horrific. Chase would not wake up in pain everyday for the rest of his life and wonder if he shouldn’t have let them cut his leg off. 

Chase had lost something significant, but that loss could be overcome. And House would find ways to make it easier on the young man. Because Chase was right: even though House knew that he had done everything right, he felt guilty.

HCHCHCHCHC

Chase was released from the hospital three days after going completely deaf. It was a strange and scary experience. He had to go back to Boston to close up his apartment and say goodbye to his old colleagues. He had given notice at Tufts while in the hospital, citing his illness as the reason for his immediate departure. The truth was far more complicated. He wanted to start working with House and learning about diagnostics. He wanted to be back at PPTH, where he was beginning to feel some level of comfort with his disability and where accommodations were already being put into place. He wanted to be around people who would never know him as a hearing individual and so feel less pity for what he had lost. But mostly, he needed to go back where he felt safest, and for some strange reason that was wherever House happened to be.

Chase was glad he had decided to drive to Princeton rather than take a train or fly. Trying to navigate the crowds in either an airport of train station right now seemed rather daunting. Instead, he only had to deal with the girl in McDonald’s who couldn’t seem to understand that he wanted mayonnaise on his quarter pounder. 

It took almost a week to arrange for the movers to pack and store everything that he wasn’t taking with him in his car, shut off all his utilities, break his lease, say goodbye to all of the people he had worked with but never really befriended, and to book a suite in an Extended Stay America hotel. House wanted him to start work right away, so Chase would have to look for more permanent lodgings in his free time. If he had any free time.

The drive back to New Jersey felt like Chase was coming home. The closer to Princeton he got, the better Chase felt. He had not felt truly at home anywhere since he left Australia. In fact, even in Australia he hadn’t felt at home anywhere since his father had left him alone to deal with his mother. Home became a place to sleep at night and avoid when awake from then on. Until he’d come to PPTH. Something about the hospital, something about House, drew him in and made him feel like he belonged there.

House had emailed Chase while he was still in Boston and told him that he was taking Chase shopping the day after he returned. Chase had no choice but to go along with the decree, so after a night in his new hotel suite, Chase dressed for a day shopping with his new boss. He had no idea what they were shopping for, but Chase was ready for just about anything.

House picked Chase up in front of the hotel and Chase warily eyed the motorcycle that House was riding. House held out the extra helmet he’d strapped to the back and signed, Climb on. Don’t be a wuss.

I’m not a wuss, Chase signed back but he was still slow to take the helmet and put it on. Once he was on, House pulled Chase’s arms around him. Chase took the hint and tightened his hold. Just in time, as it turned out, because House revved the engine, popped the clutch and they zoomed out of the hotel driveway in a cloud of smoke from overheated rubber. House steered them towards the highway and Chase held his breath for the next hour and a half as they crossed New Jersey, braved the late morning traffic and finally crossed the Holland Tunnel into Manhattan. When House parked his bike in a handicap spot on the corner of Christopher Street, Chase almost called him on it. Then he noticed the little blue wheelchair sticker on the windscreen of the bike.

Only House.

House led Chase to a rather nondescript store, but once they entered, Chase realized why they were there. The shelves along both walls were covered with electronic equipment and software geared toward the disabled. Chase wondered how House had found this place, but then realized that House probably searched online. The store clerk emerged from behind a curtain at the back of the long narrow store and approached them. House’s back was to Chase, so he couldn’t see his mouth, or even his hands, but the clerk nodded and began signing to him.

We have all the accessories that go with that system, he signed. Just give me a minute and I’ll bring the catalogue out. It will be easier to pick the items you would like to see and then I can hunt them down. My uncle has a strange sense of organization. 

What system? Chase asked.

The system Cuddy has installed in diagnostics, House explained. Your impairment has finally given her the leverage she needed with the board to assign diagnostics our own reserved rooms on the same floor as our department. Two private rooms equipped for ICU purposes and one isolation room. She’s been trying to get my department away from the rest of the hospital for years. Says I’m bad for staff morale or something. 

Anyway, part of the set up for these new rooms includes a sound monitor system. You’ll be given a watch receiver that vibrates whenever one of the alarms goes off. The really cool part is that they’ve been able to set the system up so that you can tell which alarm in which room is going off. So even if we have three patients—which will never happen—you’ll know exactly where to go and whether that patient’s heart has stopped or his O2 levels have dropped. With repeaters installed throughout the floor, you’ll know before anyone else on the team when something’s going wrong. Won’t work on every floor, but ours and the ones above and below us should work fine.

Chase was astounded. Dr. Cuddy had gone to all that trouble for him?

Don’t look like that, House scolded. Legally, the hospital has an obligation to provide the necessary accommodations for you to do your job. I get handicapped parking and you get really cool equipment.

Okay, Chase said reluctantly. But if the hospital is buying this stuff, why are we here?

Because you’ll need some of this for your home. How will you know if the fire alarm goes off? Or wake up when the alarm clock buzzes? Or know when someone is at the door? House explained. If we get a system that is compatible with the one at work, you can use the same receiver at home. Makes one thing simpler.

Got it, Chase signed. 

Just then the clerk, who introduced himself as Tom, returned. They spent the next hour going through the catalogue and selecting the transmitters that House thought Chase would need including a doorbell, fire alarm, smoke alarm, an alarm clock with a vibrating mattress receiver, weight sensitive doormat, motion detectors, and a few things that Chase didn’t really know what they did. House also made him order two extra watch receivers, one extra for the office and one extra for at home in case something ever happened to the one he was wearing. Then they picked out a video phone and House ordered four of them: one for the differential room, one for his office, one for House’s home, and one for Chase’s home. 

House insisted that Chase needed a real time captioning device that could turn the spoken word into text, but both Chase and the clerk finally convinced him that the technology wasn’t quite to the point where such a device was actually useful. The devices currently only recognized voices that have been programmed through extensive input from the users. And even if Cameron and Foreman agreed to go through the trouble, the device would only recognize the words if they spoke slowly and clearly all the time. Chase would be better off using interpreters and reading lips.

They left the store a while later and House led Chase to a small Cuban restaurant nearby. They ordered, but House was still pouting about the captioning device. Eventually, however, he sighed and signed, Cameron will probably volunteer to learn to sign out of guilt and pity and Foreman will learn because it will be practical and because I’ll make him but it will take time for them to become fluent. I know the hospital requires certain key staff to be fluent in sign because they need to be able to deal with deaf patients, so we’ll find out who they are so we can call on them if you need an interpreter for now. 

Chase nodded and took a sip of the Cuban beer House had ordered for him. How soon will the systems be up and running? I’d like to become familiar with the receiver and the notifications before I actually need to use them.

The rooms were arranged on Friday, the techs installed the system yesterday and they’re running tests today to get any bugs out, House told him. And tomorrow you’ll get trained by one of the tech guys on how to use the system and how to add your personal devices to the receiver. The watch you’ll be wearing can be programmed to recognize up to one hundred different devices.

And each on will have a distinctive display on the watch? Chase asked. 

House nodded. When a device goes off, the watch will vibrate and the face light up so you can read the text. The device names will have to be short, since the watch can only display eight characters. So one device will be ICU1O2, or you might get a text that says FIRE. I worked on the list of codes with the techs while you were in Boston.

You realize that you are still being nice to me, Chase signed with a small smile playing across his features.

House pouted. Am not! I’m just doing my job!

Everything I’ve heard about you and everything I’ve observed since we met tells me that you don’t buy into duty, Chase signed. You avoid work as much as possible, so there must be some other reason besides doing your job.

House was saved from having to answer right away since the waitress brought their lunch right then. House had ordered a Pan con lechón, a pressed sandwich with Cuban bread, roasted pork, onions, and mojito sauce. Chase had ordered a traditional Cuban sandwich with sliced roast pork, Serrano ham, Swiss cheese, dill pickles, and yellow mustard on buttered Cuban bread. They shared a large side of rice and black beans, or Platillo Moros y Cristianos, and a side of Plátanos maduros—fried plantains. They both dug into the food and savored the striking flavors. 

I’m not sure why I’m doing all this, House finally admitted, but his motions were light and playful. It probably has something to do with your hair. And your eyes. And your ass.

You want me? Chase asked. Then he nodded and grinned. Yeah. You want me. That makes sense. I am rather irresistible. Haven’t had a boss hit on me since I worked part time at the launderette in secondary school, though. He was quite the perv. Are you a perv too?

Define perv, House signed with a smirk on his lips. Everyone has a different definition of what constitutes deviant behavior. For instance, I think sodomy is perfectly acceptable, preferable even, but there are many who would call that a perversion. 

I’m not in that contingent, though I’m familiar with the sentiment, Chase replied. In fact I have a rather broad scope of things that I think are perfectly normal. No, I was thinking more along the lines of pederasty, erotic asphyxiation, klismaphilia and urolagnia.

The fact that you know what those are intrigues me, House signed with a leer. I take it the launderette guy was into one or all of those things?

He was, Chase agreed. I was young enough to be his kid and yet he pursued me with a vengeance. When I finally let him catch me, I realized that age wasn’t his only perversion. I could put up with the enemas, but the strangulation and being peed on were more than I wanted to deal with.

House was floored. You let him catch you?

Yep.

And then you let him…. House was rarely surprised but he was now. Wow. But those things were beyond your comfort zone. So where do your boundaries lie?

I’ll tell you if we ever take this further than a flirtation, Chase hedged. He wasn’t sure what game he was playing, but Chase was enjoying it nevertheless. He liked House. He liked his snarkiness and his rough edges. He liked that he was uncomfortable admitting to any acts of kindness. He liked that they connected on an intellectual level despite the differences in their respective positions. He liked that House made him feel safe and wanted. And House seemed to like him in return. There was a strange and compelling electricity between them and Chase liked that a lot. 

We should head back to Princeton, House finally signed and pulled out his wallet to pay for their lunch. The discussion was closed for now and the ball was definitely in House’s court, but Chase expected that House wouldn’t let it go too long before reintroducing the subject. He could wait.

HCHCHCHCHC

Chase’s first days at PPTH were interesting to say the least. They had no patient, so Chase was free to become acquainted with the hospital, his new equipment, and his new colleagues. House had been right about Cameron. On the first day, she had signed good morning to him. Her motions were jerky and she obviously didn’t have a clue what he signed in reply, but she was trying. Foreman had snorted and signed to Chase that Cameron was going to try and smother him with concern. Again, the form had been rough—it was obvious he didn’t sign very often—but it was definitely recognizable and Foreman had a surprising vocabulary. 

House had been conspicuously absent Chase’s entire first two days. Cameron had told him that House was doing clinic duty. Foreman had signed that he had extra hours because he broke into Cuddy’s office and rearranged everything so that she couldn’t find anything. Chase had grinned at that. It certainly sounded like something House would do. Chase used the extra time to seek out and meet the members of staff who were fluent in sign language. There were a few nurses on the night shift or who were off rotation that he didn’t get to meet, but he met most of the day nurses who signed, as well as a handful of doctors, the HR secretary, the receptionist, and the accountant. He was also surprised to find that Dr. Cuddy and Dr. Wilson could sign as well. In all, He was shocked to discover that there were more than twenty people on staff who could sign, And Dr. Cuddy had been sure to assign nurses who could sign to cover the newly appointed diagnostics rooms.

Chase took his first shift in the clinic that Friday, his third day on the job. He was more nervous than he had been back in his first days as an intern. There was something daunting about dealing with patients when you couldn’t hear them. House was still doing his extra clinic hours with Cuddy standing guard over him like an angry mother punishing a six year old boy for breaking a window. 

Chase had to chuckle every time he saw them bickering back and forth. He knew that others assumed that House was chasing Cuddy and the fighting was their weird sort of foreplay, but Chase had been forced to pay more attention to body language since losing his hearing and he saw something completely different. House might instigate the fights, and he might make rude and inappropriate remarks, but Cuddy was the one flaunting herself at House, trying to entice him with her body and getting more and more frustrated when he continually backed away from any real contact. House’s body language was always guarded when he was with Cuddy. His shoulders curled in and he made himself smaller. He pulled away as much as he could without actually stepping back from her which would have given her an advantage. He didn’t have to hear what they were arguing over—that was completely irrelevant—to know what was really happening.

Chase had to let their little show go and pay attention to Clive, the clinic nurse on duty who signed. He had been assigned to not only show Chase the ropes, but shadow him and act as interpreter. Chase thought it was rather impractical to do this every time he had clinic duty, but Dr. Cuddy had insisted on the arrangement at least for the first few weeks. 

“Good after noon Mr. Goodwin,” Chase said as he read the man’s chart and entered the room. “I hope you don’t mind, but Nurse Clive will be acting as a translator. I recently lost my hearing and still need a little extra help. Now, your chart says you’re suffering from abdominal pain?”

Chase watched Clive as he began to translate the man’s complaints into sign. Intense, sharp pain began last night and woke him from sleep. He... his wife gave him ibuprofen and bismuth and they went back to bed. He slept fitfully, kept awake by the pain and finally came in to the clinic. Clive asked a question and then signed, He hasn’t urinated more than a few drops since yesterday afternoon.

“No fever,” Chase said as he read looked back at the chart. He had the man lie back on the table and did a quick examination of his abdomen. “Okay, it’s probably either a urinary tract infection or kidney stones, but I’ll want to do a urinalysis and get a CT of your abdomen to be sure. In the meantime, I’m going to have one of the nurses set up an IV and get you on a pain medication a little stronger than ibuprofen.”

Chase wrote up the instructions in the chart as he spoke and then went to the door with Clive close on his heels.


	2. Abuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House is in an abusive relationship and Wilson must save him, whether House wants to be saved or not.
> 
> House/Wilson. Cuddly bashing. Non-con/dub-con. Abuse. May have triggers.

James Wilson knew Greg House better than anyone else in the world. He knew his moods and his temperament. He knew his likes and dislikes. He knew when he was hiding something and when he was lying… most of the time. And he knew when his best friend was perched precariously on the edge of an emotional cliff. He had witnessed the phenomenon enough times by now to recognize the symptoms. He wasn’t proud of his past track record in preventing House from plummeting—he’d often been too wrapped up in his own problems and suffering to see it before it was too late—but that record was what prompted him to pay closer attention and be there the next time House was headed for a fall. After the hallucinations and Mayfield, Wilson knew that it was his job to keep House safe and sane. It was a responsibility he wanted because he cared about House, probably more than anyone else in the world.

When Wilson thought back over their years of friendship, he realized how much he relied upon House to keep him sane. Wilson knew that he was neurotic and OCD at times. He knew he had a difficult time opening up to his wives, or any woman. He knew that he was imperfect and would have long ago gone off the deep end himself if it wasn’t for House. House wasn’t the sort to sit there holding his hand and telling him everything was going to be okay. No, House would call him an idiot for letting whatever had knocked him on his ass get to him and then taunt, tease and torment him until he did something to change. It was an unusual tactic, but it worked for him. Sam, Bonnie, and Julie had all put him on a pedestal and then been surprised when he fell. House told him it was okay to wallow in the mud and then usually tossed a handful in his face. That attitude was refreshing and had become as necessary as air to a man as uptight as Wilson could be.

On the other hand, Wilson had spent years ignoring the positive things House brought to his life and had focused solely on the negatives. When Vogler tried to force House to compromise his principles, Wilson had advised him to give in and had railed against him when House had done what he thought was right. The consequences had been harsh, but Wilson regretted the way he had put the blame solely on House. It had been Vogler’s greed and desire to turn the hospital into another one of his profitable business ventures that had started the whole mess. It had been Vogler’s need to strip House of any power and pride that had pushed the situation out of control. And if House had not existed, if House had not been here to stop him, Vogler would have made PPTH a horrible place to work or be a patient. His demands were unreasonable and would have cost patient lives.

Then along came Tritter. Sure House could be an ass. Sure the man could make the nicest man shake with anger. But no matter what he said or did to Tritter, it was not enough to deserve what Tritter did to all of them in return. A few insults and a rectal thermometer are grounds for minor law suit, not a full-blown police investigation of the level Tritter set in motion. It was that man’s hostility and anger that had been out of control, and yet, Wilson had betrayed House to that mad man. Yes, he had thought it was for House’s own good, but it wasn’t really. It was because he believed that on some level House deserved what he was getting. Looking back, Wilson knew it wasn’t true, just as nothing House had done to the man who shot him justified that man’s actions. In the end, the judge had seen what only House had seen before. Yes, House was an ass, but Tritter was out of line and should have been reigned in long before things got that out of control.

Then, after Amber died, Wilson had deserted House all together despite the fact that his friend had risked his own life to save her and had tried to give Wilson time and space to heal. Even though he came back, Wilson knew that he had damaged House’s faith in him. And when he did come back, it was reluctantly. He never told House that he doesn’t think he has ruined his life. On the contrary, he told him that we don’t get to choose our friends, like he still didn’t want to be friends, but had no choice in the matter. 

After Wilson’s constant betrayals, Amber’s death, and Kutner’s suicide, it wasn’t all that surprising that House’s mind finally gave out. Wilson knew that the Vicodin had to have played a big part in the hallucinations that followed, but he could never be completely sure that the Deep Brain Stimulation that he had guilted House into hadn’t been a mitigating factor as well. Maybe House never would have been driven to the brink of insanity if Wilson had been a better friend.

Then again, if House hadn’t gone to Mayfield, he would still be abusing the Vicodin and compromising his health. Knowing the physical pain that House was in on a daily basis, Wilson wasn’t sure that would have been completely horrible. He’d always assumed House was overplaying the pain card. After seeing him deal with the pain after being released from Mayfield, he knew that if anything, House had underplayed the pain. Or maybe Wilson just couldn’t comprehend that level of pain on a daily basis.

Wilson had spent four months while House was in Mayfield trying to sort through all of his issues and come to a better understanding of House and his relationship with House. He had promised himself that he would start being a better friend to the older doctor. And he had done so for a time. He and House had lived together and laughed together. Wilson had defended House from Cuddy’s irrational anger and they had faced her boyfriend’s unnecessarily cruel pranks together. 

Then, when things between the two friends took a turn towards something deeper, Wilson ran from his emotions by hooking up with the first pretty female to cross his path. Wilson had failed House. He had tossed his friend aside once again. One whisper of dissatisfaction from Sam, and Wilson threw House out to fend for himself when he was still recovering from both his addiction and his psychosis. That was followed closely by Cuddy telling him that she and Lucas were getting married. Then the crane disaster and more cruel words from Cuddy—passed on to Wilson from one of the nurses who had been standing nearby—and finally the death of the woman who had been trapped, the woman whose leg House had amputated.

Wilson knew without a doubt that House was an emotional wreck and, rather than rushing home to Sam after he finished at the hospital as promised, he turned his car in the other direction and made a detour to House’s apartment. The front door was ajar when he got there. Cuddy had beaten him there. He listened to their conversation and knew that he had been right; House had almost fallen off the wagon and Wilson was partially responsible. He also listened to Lisa’s words, so close to the words he had said to House after Amber’s death, and cringed. 

“I don’t want to love you,” she had said. As if loving House was a horrible thing, as if House himself was not worth loving.

Wilson had listened with tears in his eyes as House had responded to her. The fact that he didn’t consider himself worthy of her love was obvious. The fact that neither of them thought House was good enough just the way he was tore at Wilson’s heart in a way that he had never felt before. 

He didn’t interrupt and it soon became obvious that their talk was heading for the bedroom. Wilson let himself out the door and closed it quietly behind him. He leaned against the door feeling like a weight was pressing down on his chest. This wasn’t right. Cuddy wasn’t the person House needed. Cuddy didn’t love him the way he deserved to be loved. House was flawed, like any human is flawed. He has baggage, but so does Cuddy and so does Wilson. That neither Cuddy nor House recognized that fact scared Wilson. Wilson had been scared for House many times in their long friendship, but this was the first time that he felt a true sense of dread. Cuddy had a power over House that could destroy him and she wasn’t above using it. 

Wilson got into his car and drove away from House’s apartment, but couldn’t bring himself to go back to the loft. Sam was there, the symbol of Wilson’s failure, and he didn’t want to see her. He blamed her, at least in part, for the way he had hurt House. Instead, Wilson spent what was left of the night driving around aimlessly, thinking about House and how he could protect him, until he was just too tired to go on driving or thinking. 

He got a room in the same hotel where he had once lived. It was actually just down the hall from that room. Wilson gave a rueful smile at the irony and let himself in. There was nothing special about the room, but Wilson recognized that it had seen some renovation in the last couple of years. Shaking those meaningless thoughts off, Wilson brushed his teeth with the toothbrush he had bought from the mini-store in the lobby and got ready for bed. He pulled off his clothes, leaving only his boxers and t-shirt on before he fell into bed and let sleep finally come just as the sun began to peek through the heavy drapes.

HWHWHWHWHW

“Where are you?” Sam’s voice over the phone line before Wilson was truly awake was not a welcome sound. Wilson had grabbed his cell phone out of pure habit, not even fully awake, and flipped it open without ever opening his eyes. “James?”

Wilson blinked slowly and tried to sit up. He gave that up for a lost cause after three tries and cleared his throat once, twice, before he was able to actually reply. “I’m… What time is it?”

“It’s noon,” Sam said grumpily. “You never came home and you never called. I called the hospital when you still hadn’t shown up by lunchtime. Funny thing, they told me you checked out at two in the morning. So I’ll ask again: where are you?”

Sam’s righteous indignation was like a knife cutting through his skull. “I got a hotel. Didn’t get to sleep until almost 7 am.”

“You should have come home,” Sam said accusingly. “Or aren’t you alone?”

Wilson finally sat up. He was awake now. “What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything,” Sam said. “I’m asking you point blank: did you have sex with someone last night? Is that why you didn’t come home?”

Wilson scrubbed his face and held back a growl of indignation. “I was doing triage from a major disaster for twelve hours yesterday and you think that the minute I walked away from that horror, I went out to pick up some girl?!”

“Maybe you didn’t have to pick her up,” Sam said coldly. “You admitted yourself that you haven’t always been faithful to your other wives.”

“I was never unfaithful to you,” Wilson said. “It was you who walked away for no reason. And for your information, I slept alone last night. I’m not having an affair. I was tired and emotionally drained and I wanted to be alone for a while to deal with everything that was spinning around my head. I’m sorry if you worried, but I have given you no reason to believe I would cheat on you. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to hang up and try to get a couple more hours of sleep before I have to go back into the hospital.”

Wilson disconnected the call and leaned back against the headboard. That last was a lie; he knew he would never get back to sleep now and he had no intention of going in to work. Let her check with his assistant and accuse him of cheating again. Maybe then she’d leave and at least one of his problems would disappear.

Wilson closed his eyes and sighed. Since when had he begun thinking of Sam as a problem? Wilson had to really think about that, so he got up and drew a bath in the huge tub. It wasn’t until after he was soaking in the hot water that he came to any sort of conclusion. It was the moment she began giving hints that she wanted House gone. He had thought that they were both trying to get along for his sake, but she had broken the unspoken accord and began using his weakness for sex against him. Some part of him knew what she was doing and loathed himself for letting her get away with it even as he asked House to move out. But that had begun the decline in his respect for his ex-wife.

Wilson sighed and tried to let the water wash his thoughts away. He knew that he would have to go home eventually and face Sam. He knew that eventually he would have to face House and hear all about his magical night. And he would feel guilty because he had encouraged House’s feelings for Cuddy and because he knew now just how wrong she was for House. He also knew that there wasn’t much he could do about the eventual fallout that was coming except be prepared when it came. 

HWHWHWHWHW

It took longer for the fallout than Wilson had anticipated. Three months passed after that fateful night with no outward sign of the end result he knew would come in time. Sam had forgiven his trespasses, blaming both his absence and his attitude on the stress of the crane accident. House had come to him, but not for almost a week after the incident. Wilson had let that lapse go, thinking it was the honeymoon phase. Since then, however, House had become more and more distant to the point Wilson believed his friend had begun to avoid him. Now, after three months of almost no contact with House, Wilson knew he had to do something. 

He had never imagined that Cuddy would push to keep them apart, but Wilson was sure that she was the driving force behind their separation. Whether she had stated her feelings outright or hinted that she didn’t like the influence Wilson had on House he couldn’t be sure, but it was obvious to Wilson that Cuddy was pulling House’s strings and House was too afraid of losing her to fight it.

The few glimpses Wilson had of House outside of a professional setting gave him little clues that most people would overlook, but which Wilson saw as cries for help. There was the pained and remorseful look House gave him when he declined Wilson’s invitation to go bowling the last time. There was the shame Wilson spotted briefly in House’s eyes when he told Wilson that he was too busy with clinic duty to play a game of foosball one afternoon. And then came the annual benefit gala. 

One year, the gala had been a poker tournament. One year they had taken a riverboat cruise on the Delaware. One year the women who organized the event had been as caught up in the Pirates of the Caribbean craze and had a pirates and wenches theme. This year, the hospital’s Women’s Auxiliary had decided to have a benefit concert. Somehow, Cuddy had coerced House into playing the piano as part of the cocktail hour before the actual concert.

Wilson knew that House never played in public. He rarely played his music for anyone but his closest friends. It was just too personal for House. He poured all of his emotions and soul into the music he played, whether he was playing the piano, the organ or one of his many guitars. Wilson knew that House would never volunteer to play in front of a room filled with strangers. More than that, he would never willingly consent to pandering to the hospital donors. To Wilson, this meant that he must have been coerced into the performance.

Wilson watched him play with a frown of concern on his face through the entire performance. Sam looked on, oblivious to either House’s distress or Wilson’s worry. In fact no one could see what he saw so clearly written all over House’s face, but Wilson could. He could see the lines of anxiety that were etched there. He could see the way his hands shook from dread. He could see the nervous glances he sent in Cuddy’s direction and the beseeching looks sent Wilson’s way. No one who didn’t know House as well as Wilson did would ever see beyond the sardonic and cynical exterior, but Wilson saw it all.

Beyond causing a scene that could do more harm than good, there was little that Wilson could do to protect his friend. When Cuddy slipped up beside House and the melancholy blues was replaced with some snappier jazz numbers, Wilson was sure that things had gone beyond the point he could bear to watch. He excused himself from Sam with a glance towards the men’s room and then made his way around the perimeter of the room until he was right beside House. Cuddy had gone back to talking up the donors, and didn’t see his arrival.

“You okay?” Wilson asked with a negligence they both knew was faked.

“Been better,” House responded with the same airy tone.

“You’re sweating,” Wilson said, letting some of his concern bleed through. “And you’re shaking.”

“Fever,” House said through teeth gritted with pain. “Was 102.3 before we left the house.”

“So why aren’t you in bed?” Wilson asked with horror coloring his voice and his face.

House kicked him and Wilson realized he was drawing attention to them. “Lisa said this was more important.”

“Lisa was wrong,” Wilson hissed quietly. “You need to be in bed. And if she’s not willing to take care of you when you are sick, then she doesn’t love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

House’s hands shook even more and Wilson wasn’t sure if it was from chills or from the words he had just spoken. “I… Jimmy, this is it. This is all I’ve got, my last chance. I can’t…”

“That is such bullshit!” Wilson whispered angrily. “You’re sick, but she’s manipulated you into coming here anyway because it’s what’s best for her. I’m sure she manipulated you into playing. And she’s manipulated you into avoiding me for months. That isn’t love. That’s abuse.”

Wilson instinctively knew that he had crossed the line with that last statement. It was not something they ever talked about but Wilson suspected things. The absolute hatred House had for his father—who wasn’t really his father after all—even after death pointed towards something more than a strict curfew and parental disapproval. Wilson had always suspected, but House would never confirm, and Wilson knew not to ask anything outright. It was a subject that was only safe when in reference to someone else. And Wilson had just broken that unspoken agreement. 

“It’s not abuse,” House hissed at Wilson. His hands were shaking now and Wilson worried that he had upset House beyond the limits that could be forgiven. Then he realized that House’s whole body was shaking and knew that it was something much worse than anger. House was seizing. Wilson was able to control his fall from the piano bench, but beyond that there wasn’t much he could do but keep House from injuring himself. With House’s head cradled in his lap, Wilson saw Chase and Thirteen rush over. There were others gathering around to see the spectacle, and Wilson scowled at them. It seemed even doctors liked to gape.

Someone had the presence of mind to call an ambulance and before long, Wilson was stepping back while the paramedics lifted a now unconscious House onto the gurney. Chase and Thirteen gave them information, but Wilson was waylaid by Cuddy.

“What the hell is going on?” Cuddy demanded.

Wilson glared at her. “Your boyfriend just had a seizure because his fever spiked. The fever you knew about and yet ignored when you demanded he attend this little soirée.”

“You have no right—”

Wilson cut her off. “No, you have no right to treat anyone the way you’ve been treating House. And it stops here. You’ve risked his life, and now I’m going to save it. Now get the fuck out of my way and go suck up to the almighty donors. I’m riding with House to the hospital.”

HWHWHWHWHW

Wilson sat beside House’s bed and listened to his fever-induced ramblings. He was hallucinating. They had managed to get his fever down to the point where it wasn’t life threatening by treating him with ice packs and soaking him with cold water while still in the ambulance, but he was still delirious. The cold packs caused House to scream out about ice baths, his tormentor switching back and forth from his father to Cuddy and Wilson had to wonder how much was delusion and how much memory. 

What he knew for sure was that House’s fever wasn’t from some random virus he picked up. It was the result of an infection. Upon arriving at the PPTH ER, Wilson and Chase had taken House to a private room usually reserved for rape patients and had done a full physical to ascertain why House had seized. They found abrasions and contusions around House’s wrists and ankles. There were teeth marks with broken skin in several places that looked to be infected. House’s back and chest were covered in cuts which were still oozing blood and pus. It was Chase who pointed out that the cuts were in the shape of words. Some had healed, some were scabbed over and others were fresh, but they all spelled out House’s supposed sins: Bastard, Worthless, Useless, Crippled, Liar, Weak, and the freshest one was Freak. 

Wilson had looked up at Chase and said, “This isn’t fodder for hospital gossip.”

“Right,” Chase said as he swallowed hard. Seeing his mentor like this had to be almost as hard for him as it was for Wilson. “We’ll need pictures, though. And we should do a rectal exam… in case…”

“We’re going to do a full exam,” Wilson said trying to keep calm. “Including a rectal exam. And you’re right; we’ll need photographic evidence if this ever has to go court for some reason. I doubt House will press charges, but if nothing else it will force him to see how serious this is.”

“I’m going to go get the rape kit and an IV of nafcillin,” Chase said. “Then we can get started trying to figure out what type of infections he has so we can treat them with targeted antibiotics.”

The next hour had been more traumatic for Wilson than he could have imagined. They had discovered that House had been penetrated brutally using some sort of blunt object. Wilson rather suspected that Cuddy had used House’s cane. There were tears in his anus and in the walls of his rectum which was another possible source of infection. Fecal peritonitis could be deadly, so they were forced to do an endoscopy which revealed that there was major tearing in House’s lower intestines.

House, luckily, had been unconscious for the entire exam.

Chase had called in Taub and the two of them performed an emergency laparotomy to repair the tears while Wilson and Thirteen looked on from the sidelines. Wilson had been reluctant to let the rest of House’s team in on his treatment, but Chase had been insistent. He needed Taub to assist with the surgery, and Thirteen had been there for the collapse. Then, towards the end of the surgery, Foreman showed up. When the others hadn’t returned to the gala, he’d become concerned. Two hours later, Wilson was finally able to sit with House in a private room while they allowed the antibiotics to work on House’s multiple infections.

House was coming out of the anesthesia, but he was still in critical condition. They hadn’t found any evidence of sepsis yet, but it was a distinct and deadly possibility. He had begun his muttered ramblings again and Wilson listened carefully to try and understand what he was saying. He wanted to have something to point to when he confronted House. And Cuddy. In the meantime, there was nothing else he could really do besides wait.

HWHWHWHWHW

“Jimmy?” House’s voice was hoarse and tired, but it was enough to wake the oncologist who was sleeping in the recliner beside the hospital bed. Wilson sat up and smiled at his friend. “What happened?”

Wilson gave a sad and rueful chuckle. “A lot. What do you remember?”

House blinked owlishly at his friend before answering. “I was playing piano. At the gala. You were with me. I was so hot and so tired.”

“You had a seizure,” Wilson told him. “Your fever spiked at 105.3. Chase, Thirteen and I got you into an ambulance and rode here with you. Then Chase and I performed a complete exam.”

House’s face paled even more than it had been and he looked away from his friend. “You had no right.”

“I had every right,” Wilson told him. “I’m your doctor and your medical proxy. And I’m your friend. She almost killed you, Greg.”

House shook his head stubbornly, but still refused to meet Wilson’s eyes.

“Okay, we’ll just leave that alone for now,” Wilson sighed. “The cuts on your chest and back were infected with staphylococcus. There were torn ligaments in your wrists and ankles from the ligatures she used on you, and your right ankle was dislocated. But the worst of the bunch was the fecal peritonitis from the tears in your rectum and large intestines. Chase and Taub performed the laparotomy, but you developed sepsis the day after the surgery. Things were touch and go for a few days, but now it looks like we’ve finally gotten the infections under control. You’re on four different antibiotics, vasopressors, low-dose corticosteroids, naproxen sodium and a banana bag. You’ve got a feeding tube into your stomach, a central venous catheter, a urinary catheter, and a small intestine-catheter. You were on a ventilator for two days, but we were able to prevent multiple organ dysfunction syndrome. And your ankle has been put in a walking cast.”

“How are my levels now?” House asked as he finally rolled over to look at Wilson.

“Your white blood cell count is still slightly elevated but it has gone down drastically,” Wilson told him. “Your respiratory rate is back within normal ranges. You heart rate is down to 95, still elevated, but not as bad as it was.”

“How bad was it?” House asked.

“Steady at 120 for a while,” Wilson said. “Thought you were going to code on us once or twice, but you didn’t.” House nodded, so Wilson went on. “Your temperature has been reducing steadily for a while now and you’re currently at 100.4. The inflammation from the infection has also reduced dramatically. In all, I’d say you’re going to live.”

“How soon before I can get out of here?” House asked.

“A few days at least, maybe as long as a week,” Wilson told him. “You know the drill. Not until you can have bowel movement on your own, and that’s not going to happen until we’re sure that the tears in your intestines have healed sufficiently.”

House nodded. “Then I can go home to Cuddy?”

“If that’s what you insist,” Wilson said. “But I’d rather you came home with me. I’d rather not have to go through this again in three months. Or worse, go to your funeral.”

“She loves me,” House said and his voice was sad and distant.

Wilson sighed. “She doesn’t love you. If she did, she wouldn’t hurt you like this.”

“Love always hurts,” House told Wilson with heartbreaking certainty. “Either from the beginning or when it ends, but it always hurts.”

Wilson wanted to argue with House’s miserable outlook on love, but he couldn’t. He loved House and he had hurt him. Everyone who House had ever loved, everyone who claimed to love House had either hurt him or left him.

“Maybe,” Wilson conceded, “But maybe it doesn’t have to be that way. And it certainly shouldn’t include physical pain and emotional abuse. You are worth loving, House. You are deserving of every kindness and every good thing. Just because Cuddy and your father were too fucked up to see that, doesn’t make it less so. Just because your mother was too weak to prevent the pain, doesn’t mean she didn’t want to protect you. And just because I’ve been blind to your pain in the past doesn’t mean I’m going to close my eyes to it now.”

House rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. Wilson knew he wouldn’t get any more from his friend just then. He needed time to process everything. “I’m going to go get some coffee and something to keep you occupied.”

“Bring my PSP,” House said without rolling over. “And my laptop. And a puzzle book. Oh, and my Kindle, there are a couple books on there I want to finish reading.”

Wilson smiled and left his friend to rest and think.

HWHWHWHWHW

Wilson stood outside House’s hospital room and watched the drama unfolding in front of him. He had called Dr. Nolan and now the man was sitting calmly in the recliner beside House’s bed. House was still trapped in his bed by the many tubes and wires coming out of him, though he was quite vocal about his feelings towards Nolan and Wilson both. The curse words were loud enough that they drifted to the nurses’ station with no trouble, even through the closed door.

Wilson watched as House slowly settled back into his bed; he was worn out from his ranting, his face was petulant and he was silent now. Nolan talked and Wilson was glad to see that House was listening, however reluctant he may be. Wilson had been shocked to learn that House hadn’t been to see Nolan since before the crane collapse. That was more than three months of missed appointments. Three months of House without the touchstone that Nolan had become since his time in Mayfield. It was no wonder things had gotten so bad.

When House finally started talking, Wilson let out the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. 

“You think you can fix him?” Cuddy asked with scorn. Wilson hadn’t heard her approach. 

“He’s not broken,” Wilson told her in a voice that was calmer than he felt. “Despite what you tried to do to him, he’s not broken and he doesn’t need to be fixed. He’s hurt and needs healing. What exactly did you think you were doing?”

Cuddy scowled. “He’s hurt me, over and over again and he’s never faced the consequences. And I didn’t set out to punish him… I love him. I just… Anyway, I don’t see how you can continue to defend him when he’s hurt you the same way.”

“You’re wrong,” Wilson told her. “Yes, he’s hurt me from time to time, but never as much as I’ve hurt him. And he’s done more for me than you’ll ever understand. But even if he had been exceptionally cruel to you—which he wasn’t—he didn’t deserve what you did to him. No one deserves to be treated the way you treated him. It was nothing short of torture, and that’s not even counting the mental and emotional abuse I’m sure you handed down.”

“He humiliated me in front of the entire hospital!” Cuddy shouted. When she realized that the nurses and other staff were looking at her, she calmed herself and lowered her voice. “He announced to entire hospital that I had slept with him when it wasn’t true. He’s lost this hospital funding on multiple occasions. He’s caused legal problems, both civil and criminal. He forced me to perjure myself.”

“He didn’t force you to do anything,” Wilson said. “You wanted him here, so you protected him. The same way you willingly gave up those donations because you wanted him here. I used to think that was because you cared about him, but I think now it had more to do with punishing him and keeping him indebted to you and under your control. And when he said those things, he was mentally unbalanced. He has since been treated and tried to make amends. You say you love him, but that’s a lie. If you loved him, you wouldn’t hurt him the way you have. I’m sorry, Lisa, but nothing you can say will justify your actions.”

“You’re a fool,” Cuddy said. “You’ll hang on until he drags you down too.”

“He didn’t drag you down,” Wilson told her. “You did this to yourself.”

“You can’t stop him from coming back to me,” Lisa told Wilson. “You may have had some say while he was unconscious, but now that he’s awake and aware, he can allow me back in.”

“And if you go anywhere near him I will bring all the evidence of abuse I have to the board of directors,” Wilson told her. “House may not want to press charges against you, but I’m sure that the board would be interested to know that their Dean of Medicine gets off on torturing one of her subordinates.”

“You can’t prove anything,” Cuddy said. 

“I have the photographs and records of his injuries catalogued on admission,” Wilson said.

“Circumstantial,” Cuddy shot back. “It could have been consensual. Maybe he gets off on pain.”

“And I have a sworn affidavit from your former boyfriend,” Wilson told her. “In it he outlined certain conversations you had. He describes how you masterminded those pranks last year. He took the blame and set them up, but got cold feet when they started becoming dangerous. He also told how you had him dig up dirt on House. How he found that rape victim from a few years ago and you got her to tell you everything he had confided in her. And then how you made plans to use that information against him. Lucas got away from your madness then—there was no proposal, one more lie you used to manipulate House—but Lucas kept track of what you were doing. He told me that you forced House to relive his childhood abuse for your amusement. Lucas has photos and has sworn that he’ll testify to all of that in court if he has to. And if Nolan declares House unfit, I’ll be the one deciding if charges are pressed. Now are you sure you want to push me on this?”

Cuddy’s face had paled. “What do you want?”

“For starters, I want you as far away from House as is humanly possible,” Wilson said. “And then I want you to get some help. You are sick. You’ve become a person that I don’t know and I don’t want to know. How you do those two things, I don’t care. Just do it. Otherwise, I’ll take what I know to the board first. And if they don’t act, I’ll take it to the media and force them to act.”

“You’re as much of a bastard as he is,” Cuddy spat.

“You can think that,” Wilson said. “I don’t give a fuck. Just be grateful you aren’t going to jail and get the fuck away from me and House.”

Cuddy’s face was filled with fury, but she left and Wilson was pretty sure that she would do as he asked. He turned back to House’s room and saw that the two men were actually having a conversation and Wilson smiled. He was right. House wasn’t broken, just a bit battered and bruised, but that would heal with time and care.

HWHWHWHWHW

Dr. Darryl Nolan came to PPTH every evening for the week before House was released and convinced him that he really didn’t want to go back to a woman who had almost killed him. The first couple of days had been iffy. House had shut Wilson out entirely once he realized that Cuddy wasn’t coming to visit. He blamed the younger doctor for Cuddy’s absence and Nolan’s presence—rightfully so on both counts—and was determined to punish his friend. By the third day, however, House had thawed towards his friend somewhat. And by the sixth day, House was ready to apologize to Wilson for letting Cuddy convince him to keep away from Wilson for the last months, a time when House needed his friend desperately.


	3. Valentines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson is acting weird and House needs to know why.
> 
> House/Wilson

It was no surprise to anyone that House hated Valentine’s Day. He hated all major holidays. Most of them were made up and all of them were over-commercialized. But James Evan Wilson was another story. He loved all the sentimental tripe that went along with Valentine’s Day. He ate it up. Normally, he enjoyed being able to lavish his wife or girlfriend with gifts and planning romantic dinners for two. Even those years when he was between wives and girlfriends, he had enjoyed the romanticism of the day. House had even caught him having a movie marathon one year which consisted entirely of romantic comedies. He was such a girl about things like that. 

But not this year.

Wilson had actually groaned when the two of them had walked into PPTH the second week of January to see that the volunteers had bedecked the place with pink and red hearts and streamers. When House had asked him what his problem was, Wilson had proceeded to wax eloquently on the hypocrisy of a society that promotes love for a single day but hate the rest of the year. And while House agreed wholeheartedly with the rant, he had to wonder what had happened to finally remove his friend’s rose-colored glasses.

Last year, Wilson had still been too caught up in his grief over losing Amber to even acknowledge the day. At least that’s what House assumed. Most people were still sympathetic enough over his loss not to bring up the subject. Wilson hadn’t once acknowledged the day and House had been happy enough to spend the day with his friend, drinking booze and watching action flicks featuring big boobs and even bigger explosions.

But a year had passed and Wilson had moved past his grief. No one walked on eggshells around him anymore. There was no reason for him not to enjoy the holiday as much as he had in the past. But for some reason he had begun channeling House.

This was a puzzle that was too intriguing for House to pass up. 

Living together at their new loft made things easier for House to snoop. It was almost too easy. Then again, Wilson had been friends with House for too long for him to be stupid enough to just leave incriminating evidence lying around. A search through Wilson’s bedroom while the younger doctor was at the hospital had turned up nothing.

Well, if Wilson was going to make this difficult, then House would just have to up his game.

HWHWHWHWHW

“House, would you mind giving our patient a little bit of your attention?” Thirteen asked. “I don’t know what sort of game you and Wilson are playing this time, but this guy is going to die if we don’t do something.”

House frowned at her. “Did Wilson say we were playing a game?”

Thirteen rolled her eyes and tossed the patient file onto House’s desk. “No. You’ve been staring at him every time he’s in the same room for the last week. You’ve been following him around the hospital. It’s pretty obvious that you’ve got something stuck in that warped brain of yours. I appreciate that you’re in love with the guy, but could you at least concentrate on the patient long enough to keep him alive?”

House’s frown turned into a scowl. “I’m not in love with him.”

“Right,” Thirteen drawled sarcastically.

“I’m not,” House said petulantly. “He’s hiding something from me and I just need to find out what it is.”

Thirteen smirked. “Because you’re in love with him.”

“Stop saying that,” House said. He picked up the file. “I’ll tell you what; I’ll treat the patient if you find a way to get his Facebook password.”

“You can’t be serious,” Thirteen sighed.

“Use your powers of persuasion,” House said while giving her body a once over. “Or something. Just don’t let him know what you’re doing.”

Thirteen took a deep breath. “Fine. But you go treat the patient now.”

House smirked and picked up the case file. He grabbed his cane and headed for the door to his office. Wilson would never suspect Thirteen.

HWHWHWHWHW

Two hours later, House was back in his office, waiting for test results and attempting to hack into Wilson’s Facebook account again. Taub walked in and handed House a piece of scrap paper.

“What’s this?” House asked.

Taub shrugged. “No idea. Thirteen asked me to give it to you.”

House glanced at the paper and grinned. He turned back to the computer and entered the information on the login screen. He let out a small whoop of joy when the page opened up. House turned to tell Taub to get out, but the man was already going through the door to the conference room. House grinned and turned back to his computer.

House skipped the public spaces. He’d already seen all of that. He went straight to the notifications. He found a poke from one Samantha Carr that was intriguing. Why would Wilson’s first wife be poking him on Facebook after nineteen years? Wilson had responded and House opened the link to the message. There were actually a few messages. The two had written back and forth a couple times. 

After quickly reading through the messages, however, House found nothing incriminating. It seemed obvious to him that the evil witch was testing the waters to see if there was a possibility of getting back together. She had even mentioned getting together for coffee once. But Wilson had brushed off the offer in his uniquely polite way. The only thing in those messages that caught House’s eye was in the last message from Sam. 

I was looking through your friends list and noticed that you are friends with Michael. I thought that was over and done with? Maybe that was just another lie. You said you’ve been married twice since we broke up. Maybe it’s time to stop lying to yourself and hurting people who care about you.

That was the last thing she had written and Wilson had not bothered to reply to her. To House, she sounded a bit bitter. Who was this Michael person?

House went to Wilson’s friends list and found that there were 12 Michaels. Frowning, he began to look through each of their profiles. Considering Sam knew him, he had to be from either Wilson’s childhood or college years, so House began narrowing down the list of suspects. Finally, he had it narrowed to two possibilities. Both had gone to school at Columbia around the time that Wilson had been in med school there. 

House looked for messages between Wilson and either of the two Michaels. The first of the two looked to be a frat buddy and the only communication between them had to do with a mutual frat brother who was getting married. There was nothing interesting there, really.

He hit pay dirt with the next Michael, though. There were a series of messages that House scrolled through. The phrase “I’m sorry” stood out in one of Wilson’s messages and so House went to the first message and began reading them in earnest. It became obvious that Wilson had reached out to the other man with the first lines of Michael’s message.

I never thought I would hear from you again. After the way you left things, I was pretty sure you and what’s her name would have gone off to make beautiful babies together. I assumed you would have that white picket fence life you seemed so sure you wanted. After all this time, I’m not sure why you would contact me.

Wilson’s reply was more enlightening.

I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you or pull you into my messed up life. It wasn’t fair to you or to Sam. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry for hurting you.

House continued to read and slowly the puzzle began to unravel, and with it, the lies that Wilson had been telling for almost two decades. Wilson had been with Sam, that was true enough. He had cheated on her, but not with a woman. He had cheated on her with this Michael person. It had been serious enough that Wilson had been contemplating leaving Sam for him. And then one day, for some reason, Wilson had backed off and dumped the man.

House knew the rest of the story. Wilson had gone to Sam and begged for forgiveness and they had attempted to put their marriage back together. It hadn’t worked. Just weeks after graduation, James had attended that conference in New Orleans and been served divorce papers. That’s where he had met House.

For almost twenty years, Wilson had led House to believe that he was completely straight and that the affair he’d had was with a woman. It was not a surprise that Wilson was able to lie to him and get away with it; House already knew that Wilson was one of the few people who could do so.


	4. Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When House moves in with Chase, he starts breaking down walls around the younger man's heart.
> 
> House/Chase

“Oh, c’mon Cuddy,” House whined in his most convincing whine. “You won’t even know I’m there!” 

Lisa Cuddy shook her head. “House, I can’t. My mother is in town for the next three weeks. There is no way I can let you stay. Why don’t you ask Wilson?”

House sighed. “Because the latest Mrs. Wilson has threatened to divorce him if she even sees me. Julie hates me. I can’t be the cause of yet another divorce in Jimmy’s life.”

“Maybe you should just find a new apartment,” Cuddy suggested. She was losing patience for this conversation. “This is what? The third time in the last three years that your place has flooded? Get a place that isn’t in a flood zone.”

“Great advice,” House said snidely. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I have no place to sleep tonight.”

Cuddy huffed with impatience. “Then get a hotel, you tight wad. I pay you a very good salary. Use it for something other than internet porn and video games! Now I have a meeting with the board chair, so if you will excuse me?”

“Fine, leave the crippled guy out in the cold!” House shouted down the hall. Cuddy didn’t even look back at him as she made her way to the elevator. He hadn’t been lying about Wilson, and he’d already tried Foreman and Cameron. That only left Chase, and he seriously doubted that his little wombat would be any more sympathetic than the other two ducklings. After all, he’d never really shown much sympathy to the Aussie. Even when the man’s father had died recently, House hadn’t let up on him. 

Part of the ever present tension that seemed to radiate between the two men stemmed from the fact that House knew that Chase wasn’t living up to his potential. The kid was a fucking genius but he coasted through differentials and his duties in the diagnostics department like he didn’t care about getting anything right. The only time he showed any true emotion was when a patient was dying. He couldn’t stand back and let a patient code out, but once the crisis was over, Chase’s mask of indifference was back in place. Not even his father’s death could break through his shell. Hence House’s failed attempts to make him crack through menial tasks and other abusive treatment.

The other reason for the tension between them was something else entirely. It had to do with sex and the fact that Chase was too obviously hung up on his religious beliefs to ever acknowledge the mutual attraction. House had long ago acknowledged that he was comfortable with both sexes. He’d had more than one relationship with a man, for what they were worth. The fact that his relationships, with men or women, never lasted long had more to do with his abrasive personality than it did with gender. 

There was a reason why House constantly told Chase he was pretty. It was true but it also forced the issue of their unresolved sexual attraction to the forefront and made Chase very uncomfortable. Chase liked to play the straight male; nevertheless his track record with women was worse than House’s. House liked to think that bringing up the unspoken reason for those failures would force the kid to see the truth eventually. 

House sighed. His life was as complicated as one of his soaps.

“No luck with Cuddy?”

The very man House was thinking about was leaning against the doorway to the conference room wearing his lab coat and an atrocious green and red plaid dress shirt with a yellow tie. House refused to cringe at the ensemble or at the fact that Chase must have overheard their conversation. Well, it wasn’t like House had tried to keep it a secret. If he didn’t want people to hear, he should have approached Cuddy in her office instead of the diagnostics hallway.

“Nope,” House said. “Looks like I’m sleeping in my office, unless you want to let me sleep on your sofa.”

“I was wondering if you would ask,” Chase smirked. “I get why you would ask Wilson before me. I even get asking Cuddy first. But now I’m relegated below Cameron and Foreman? I think I should be offended.”

House was in no mood to play. His leg hurt and he was tired. He’d woken up to muddy river water up to his knees and had spent hours trying to salvage as much of his personal belongings as possible before coming to the hospital to find a place to stay. “Will you let me stay on your couch or not?”

“Not,” Chase said. Before House could limp away, however, Chase dropped the teasing and said, “But I will let you stay in my guest room.”

House frowned. “Since when does your shithole little apartment in the worst part of Princeton have a guest room?”

Chase shrugged. “Since I moved. My father may have been a complete bastard when he was alive, but apparently he felt guilty for it before he died. He left me something in his will, so I bought a house a couple months ago. You’re welcome to stay. There’s plenty of room.”

House was still frowning when he turned to his office. “I’ll just get my bag.”

Chase went back to the conference room and exchanged his lab coat for his own jacket. Why had he just agreed to let House stay with him? He’d sworn that he was never going to let the nosy man into his carefully crafted life. He had built the walls around his heart carefully, and he’d kept them in tact for more than a decade now. The only person who had ever come close to breaking through was Dr. Gregory House, but instead of running in the opposite direction, Chase had invited the man to live with him for an unspecified period of time. Had he lost all sense of self-preservation?

Chase grabbed his messenger bag and shook off his uneasiness. He could do this. He had kept up his façade at work for three years now. He could just do the same at home.

“I’ll follow you,” House said as he met him back in the hall. He was carrying two large duffle bags. Chase sighed and took one of the bags before heading to the elevator.

HCHCHCHCHC

The ride to Chase’s house was fairly short, though House noted he lived out in the less populated part of the county, in an area where the houses were spread far apart and the size of the houses grew exponentially. House knew the area well, and knew that most of the homes in this neighborhood were owned by wealthy business men and people high up in state government commuting to Trenton. His father must have left more than a little something in his will. He must have left Chase a boat load. The property taxes alone had to be more than what Chase used to pay for rent.

They pulled into a driveway and House noted that the home was up on a hill overlooking the valley below. There were woods surrounding the property, giving it a sense of privacy without obstructing the view. The house itself was a new construction but was built to resemble an older craftsman style home. There was a huge front porch with pillars and a stone foundation that was complimented by wood siding in a cream color. The driveway circled around to the side and House followed Chase to the garage. Given the size of the home, he wasn’t surprised to see that it was a four car garage and pulled his car into the empty stall beside Chase’s car.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Chase said as he grabbed both bags from House’s car and led the way through the door. They entered a mudroom that connected to the utility room. House could see the washer and dryer in there. There was one step up to the main level of the home and then they were in a back hallway. There was a doorway that led to a large living area, but Chase passed it and went further down the hall. They passed a stairway and paused beside a door. “This is one guest bedroom, and you could choose it, but it isn’t furnished and the next one has a bigger closet. They share a bathroom, so there’s no difference there.”

“I’ll take the big closet and the bed,” House said dryly. The closet didn’t really matter all that much to him—he didn’t have much that hadn’t been ruined in the flood—but the bed certainly mattered.

Chase nodded and continued down the hallway. They came to the end of the hall and there was another bedroom straight ahead and an open doorway that led to the main part of the house to the right. “This is it.” Chase led House into the bedroom and set the bags down on the bed. House was rather impressed. Given the fact that Chase couldn’t seem to match his shirt, tie and pants on any given day, the room was really rather well decorated in cream and blue tones. 

“Nice digs,” House muttered. He walked to one door and found a walk in closet. The other door led to a Jack-and-Jill bathroom shared with the other bedroom. It had a walk in shower—which was good for House; easier on his leg—along with a big, deep tub and the toilet in a separate area from the double sinks. There were also big fluffy towels hanging from the towel racks that complemented the blue tiles.

“I hired a decorator,” Chase said with a small smile. “Never could be bothered with things like matching furniture or clothes. Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

They walked through the doorway to the main part of the house and House was surprised by how big and how open it was. On the right was the entrance to the kitchen. To the left, was what he supposed was the dining room, but was currently being used as a music room. House paused here to look around.

The majority of the space was occupied with a concert-grade grand piano the likes of which House only dreamed of buying. There were four guitars hanging on the walls—two electric and two acoustic—a violin case beside a music stand, a cello on a stand, a guitar amplifier and a hand-painted chest of drawers. House had to assume from the tall, narrow shape of the chest and the size of the drawers—long and flat—that it was used to store sheet music. Interesting. There was also a comfortable looking armchair in one corner of the room and a small writing desk in another.

Chase didn’t seem to want to linger, so they moved on. The entryway was next on the left. It opened up directly into the great room which also opened up into the kitchen and breakfast area. Along the back wall of the great room there were French doors leading out to a covered veranda and House could see a pool beyond that in the last of the fading daylight. Very nice indeed. 

“This is the library,” Chase said as he showed House the room just beyond the entry. They continued down that direction into another hallway. “And this is the master suite.”

The hall turned a corner and led into the bedroom. At the back of the room, House could see another set of French doors near the sitting area leading out to the veranda. The bedroom was huge, with vaulted ceilings. Chase let House peek at his bathroom and the walk-in closet beyond. Both were huge. There was a soaking tub and a separate steam shower along with two sinks and plenty of storage in the bathroom. In the closet, Chase’s meager wardrobe barely took up any room on the built in hardwood racks or shelves. There was a window in there that let in the morning light from the front of the house.

House was amazed that Chase, the man who had spent years working extra hours in NICU just to be able to afford his shitty little flat was now living like this. He followed the younger doctor back to the great room and took a seat on one of the two overstuffed sofas flanked around the fireplace.

Chase took the sofa across from him. “You can use the other bedroom off your suite for whatever you want. Make it an office, or whatever. It’ll give you some extra space and privacy.”

“What if you want to have guests while I’m here?” House asked.

“Oh, there’s another guest room and bath upstairs,” Chase said. “It’s furnished and has its own bathroom. I’ve also got my workout room in another room up there.”

“How much more space is up there?” House wondered.

“Just those two rooms,” Chase said. “Most of the house has vaulted ceilings, so there’s only room for a second floor over the guest wing and garage. You hungry? I can make us some dinner.”

“Yeah, sure,” House said with some bemusement. “Mind if I play your piano?”

“Nah. Help yourself,” Chase said even as he walked towards the kitchen. “It’ll be nice to have some music while I cook.”

House snooped through the music chest and found more sheet music than he would have guessed the Aussie would own and in a mixture of genres. House pulled out a Chopin piece that he had played as a teenager for a recital and set it on the piano’s music stand before sitting down and beginning to play. He stumbled over a few of the more difficult sections, but quickly found himself getting lost in the music. A musical phrase in the Chopin piece reminded him of a jazz piece that a friend of his had introduced him to a few years back and so he continued to play with barely a pause between songs. For the next hour, he interspersed classical with jazz, blues and even some more contemporary songs that had caught his attention. 

“Dinner’s ready,” Chase told him, startling House from his musical daze. The quality of sound Chase’s piano produced was something he could really get used to hearing. “I really liked that jazz piece you played after the Chopin. Was that a McCoy Tyner piece?”

House, who had been following Chase back to the breakfast nook, stopped in his tracks. “Actually, yes. A friend of mine has played with Tyner for years and taught it to me. How would you know that though? Have you been holding out on me, my little wombat?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Chase said, knowing even as he said it that it was the wrong thing to say. It was true enough, but it would only serve to pique House’s curiosity until the man was hounding him for every detail of his life. “And a lot you’ll probably never know.”

House didn’t press right then. “What’s for dinner?”

Chase let House take his seat and brought the serving dishes over to the table. “Nothing fancy. Just meatloaf and mashed potatoes along with some steamed vegetables.”

House nodded and began serving himself.

HCHCHCHCHC

The next few days passed by without much incident. They went in to work together each day and drove home together. Sometimes Chase cooked, but just as often they would order in or stop for take out on the way home. House loved playing on Chase’s piano, but had yet to hear the younger man play any of the instruments. Chase spent time each morning upstairs in his workout room. House could hear him up there as he was getting ready in the mornings. They didn’t talk much, but what House observed of the younger man added to the many questions he already had swimming around in his brain.

The weekend came and they had no patient so they had a couple days off. House spent Saturday morning sorting through his old apartment and seeing how the clean up crew was getting along. He was leaning towards getting rid of the place since his conversation with Cuddy. Having seen how well Chase was living was a factor as well. House made good money and could afford a nicer home, but had never wanted to be bothered. Now, however, he saw the up side to a nice home.

Chase spent Saturday morning while House was out playing his piano. He had missed playing. Before he allowed House to move in, he had played the piano, the violin, the cello or one of his guitars every night. Music helped him unwind from the stresses of the job; it took a lot of work to maintain the façade of indifference that he wore at the hospital everyday, and relaxing in front of the television just didn’t cut it for him. At the same time, he wasn’t ready to share that part of himself with House. Music cut through his barriers and left him vulnerable.

He had missed it so much that he never noticed the passage of time. He had been playing for hours and eventually, his growling stomach cut through the pleasant mist of music that surrounded his brain. With a sigh, he pushed away from the piano, ready to go make a sandwich for lunch. He stopped, however, when he saw that House was standing in the hallway behind him.

“I was wondering if you were ever going to actually play,” House said. “It figures you would wait until I was away.”

Chase tried to pull his mask of indifference on, to hide his vulnerability, but it was impossible. “How long have you been here?”

“About an hour,” House said. “I brought soup and sandwiches for lunch.”

Chase nodded and headed for the kitchen. He began pulling the food from the bags on the counter and set the container of soup into the microwave. He needed to do something to avoid thinking or speaking until he could get his emotions back under control.

“That last piece,” House said as he set the sandwiches out on plates. “That was original, wasn’t it?”

Chase nodded. He’d written that piece just after his mother’s death.

“Rather dark and depressing,” House said. Again Chase nodded without replying. “I’m sure there is a story there.”

Chase glared at House. “Yes there is, but it’s not one I’d like to share.”

House smirked. He’d finally gotten a reaction from the younger man. “It sounds like a funeral dirge. A good funeral dirge, but a funeral dirge nonetheless. Did you write if after your mother died, or after you father left?”

Chase froze for a split second before returning to the task of pouring soup into two bowls. “My mother.”

“You were how old then?” House asked, knowing he was pressing his luck. “Fifteen?”

“Thirteen,” Chase said. He carried the bowls to the table and House brought the plates.

House waited until they had both had a chance to eat a few bites before saying, “That’s a pretty complicated piece for a thirteen year old. You must be quite brilliant. Of course, you play great, but a composition like that…”

Chase frowned at his soup bowl. This wasn’t right. House picked at his insecurities and goaded him. Now, he was being almost…nice. And it was working. “I studied with one of Australia’s best classical pianists until my father left. I composed my first sonata when I was ten.”

“And after he left?” House asked.

Chase shrugged. “I played when I could, but we couldn’t afford lessons anymore. Any dreams I had of playing professionally were dashed. But I could still write and I could still play.”

“What about after your mother died?” House asked. “Surely your father would have paid for lessons.”

Chase glared at House. “He was remarried. Neither he nor his new wife wanted me around, so I was sent to seminary school. I had completed my secondary school requirements early and my father thought it would help me find purpose and discipline. The nuns and priests didn’t think playing was that big of a priority.”

“I thought church people liked music,” House said.

“They do,” Chase said through gritted teeth. “But not above all else. Music must be placed after one’s devotion to God, one’s charitable works to mankind, and one’s need for atonement.” The way Chase said that last part made House realize that he was reciting a lesson that must have been hard learned for the young boy he had been. “Can we not discuss this? It’s putting me off my lunch.”

“Sure,” house agreed easily. “We can talk about the pieces you’ve written over the years. How many have there been?”

“I’m not sure,” Chase said sulkily. “More than a hundred. Less than two hundred. Not all of them are for the piano. I have several that are for the violin or cello and quite a few that are for the guitar. Most of the piano pieces are classical, but I’ve written a few jazz pieces. I’ve only recently become interested in the genre.”

“How recently?” House asked with interest.

Chase blushed. “Since hearing you play last year. There was such passion in the chords and phrases that I had to learn more.”

“We should play together sometime,” House said. “I play the guitar, too. Or I could man the keyboard while you play a violin solo. It’s nice to share the music sometimes.”

Chase nodded. That actually did sound rather intriguing. He’d spent most of his life hiding his music because the nuns had beaten it into him that it was not something he should share. He felt like he’d spent so much of his life hiding who and what he was because of those lessons.

“We could do that.”

House let the subject drop and they finished their lunch in relative quiet. It wasn’t until they were clearing the table that another thought hit House and he had to ask the question. “Is the pool heated?”

Chase looked surprised by the non sequitur. “Um, yeah. I have a service that keeps it maintained. They keep it set to about 82 degrees right now, since it’s still so chilly out. Did you want to swim? You’re more than welcome.”

“It’s good therapy for my leg,” House said.

“Of course,” Chase said. “I should have thought about that. There’s a hot tub out there as well. Actually, a swim sounds pretty good. Maybe I’ll join you.”

House smirked as he went back to his room to change. Getting Chase to spend time with him voluntarily was actually easier than he had thought. And to do it when the younger doctor was half naked was a bonus. He’d be able to ogle the man to his heart’s content.

HCHCHCHCHC

Though the day was bright and sunny and relatively warm for early April in New Jersey, it was still somewhat chilly. House found Chase already in the heated pool when he went out to the veranda a few minutes later. Chase showed his non-American background with his swim attire. He was wearing a tight little black Speedo. House was rather pleased with this, since it left little to the imagination and Chase’s body was well-sculpted from his morning workouts. House himself wore more conservative swim trunks in a very boring blue. He wasn’t ashamed of his body—he kept in pretty good condition despite his injured leg—but he wasn’t as young or as toned as Chase. 

They swam laps in silence for a while before House decided that his leg had had enough for one day and went to the hot tub to relax and watch Chase. The hot tub felt great on House’s leg after the exercise. House leaned back against the cushioned headrest and allowed his eyes to close. When he opened them again, it was because Chase was climbing into the tub carrying two glasses of some iced drink.

“Tea,” Chase offered. “With just a splash of crème de menthe.”

House took a tentative sip. “I’m not one for mixed drinks, but this is good.”

“Yeah,” Chase said and took a long drink from his glass as he relaxed back into the headrest behind him. He was only a couple feet from House and the older man felt his presence like an ache, but he made no move to approach Chase. There were still too many obstacles in place for anything like that. If he moved now, Chase would run far and fast.

“Why don’t I take you to dinner tonight?” House asked. “To thank you for allowing me to stay with you.”

Chase looked wary, but agreed. “Yeah, alright. I guess I should go shower and get dressed then.”

House finished his drink while Chase climbed from the hot tub and then he too was carefully climbing out. They separated, Chase going through the French doors to his room and House making his way through the great room. Half an hour later, they were both back and dressed for dinner out. 

For a change, Chase didn’t look as though his clothes had been haphazardly thrown together from the thrift store reject pile. He wore a nice pair of dress pants in soft gray wool matched with a green cashmere sweater. House had actually deigned to wear black dress pants himself rather than jeans and was wearing a black dress shirt sans tie with a gray blazer. 

“Ready?” House asked.

“Yep,” Chase agreed and followed House out to the garage. 

They took House’s car and headed towards Trenton. They talked about meaningless subjects on the way: the weather, politics, and the latest hospital gossip. When House pulled up in front of a rather nice and expensive restaurant, however, Chase was surprised. The valet took the keys and House led Chase inside, ignoring the younger man’s confusion.

They were shown to a small secluded table in an alcove near the back of the restaurant. House waited for Chase to sit before taking the seat across from him. They spent a few minutes discussing the menu, but once they had each ordered and the waitress had moved on, a silence fell over the table.


End file.
